Koukai Nashi
by wolf's paradise
Summary: Eyes. They haunted him. They were empty, so empty that the blood suddenly didn't matter. He knew that look. He had felt that look. Rated M for content. GrimmIchi. Yaoi.


**A/N:** Um, yeah. Not much to say about this thing. I was watching _The Patriot_, and this just suddenly popped into my head, and turned into what it is now. These are two of my favorite characters from Bleach (aside from Rukia as well), so I felt it fitting to write something about them. They just seem to be surrounded by blood and conflict, and watching _The Patriot_ today just seemed to spark this idea. Besides, I just wanted to write something about Bleach, and I was inspired if you will.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach.

**Summary:** Eyes. They haunted him. They were empty, so empty that the blood suddenly didn't matter. He knew that look. He had _felt_ that look.

* * *

Koukai Nashi

_No regrets…_

The first time he saw him, he was covered in blood.

Covered. _Completely_.

His shirt was dark, but blood created darker patches. It slicked down his face in sticky, grotesque lines, marring his features. But it was just – It was just _dripping_ _everywhere_…

He couldn't see anything else. Nothing but the blood soaking that shirt and those arms and that face… There was one other thing he did notice. But only one.

Eyes.

They haunted him.

They were empty, so empty that the blood suddenly didn't matter. Blue seemed to take up his entire vision. He couldn't look away. They stared at him, almost as if he wasn't there. Oh god, they were so empty, like dark holes with no end in sight, and there was pain…so much _pain_…

He knew that look. He had _felt_ that look, not even too long ago. One year… One year before and he had been kneeling in a pool of blood, looking much the same, the blood not his own, eyes vacant.

But he understood. Even in his childishness that had quickly begun to vanish all those months ago, he somehow understood – no words needed.

Suddenly, there was anger in those eyes, and they were staring right through him as he stalked forward until he was hovering over the small form. He gasped, large honey eyes widening as he looked into blue that was abruptly too intense. It was almost too much, and he fought the spike of fear that wanted him to take a step away from that face – and the other things he was beginning to notice.

The knife – blade dripping and dirty, handle gripped so tightly knuckles were white underneath all the blood.

Pearly teeth and elongated canines beneath scowling lips.

And he was _big_.

Then, the anger seemed to turn to disdain, but somehow, his voice was gruff, low, and empty – not at all reflecting his eyes. "Are you afraid of me, kid?"

Intensity. That's all he could see. Blue intensity.

He should have been afraid.

"No," he whispered, slowly shaking his head back and forth.

Those eyes bored into his, changing, narrowing. "Why?"

What could he say? So he shrugged.

_Don't take your eyes off of him. Don't look away_, something in his mind whispered, and he obeyed. He shivered – it was cold – but his mouth remained shut. He wanted to look away, the blood was bringing back too many memories, but he wasn't afraid.

_You should be_.

"You gonna answer me, kid?" he growled, voice threatening, but strangely still calm.

He spoke without thinking. "You're lost."

"…What?" The anger was back.

This time, he did look down, and this time he shivered because of _him_. The blood, the anger, it was rolling off of him in waves. "I was lost, too," he said quietly, hoping to placate the angry boy standing over him. "But I… You're lost, just like me. I guess I…don't feel so alone anymore."

And he meant it.

The anger calmed. "Che, how old are you, kid?"

He didn't like the nickname, but it was technically true. "Ten. You?" Defiance flashed momentarily.

The boy thought a moment, eyes a mix of so many things. "Sixteen. Ain't you a bit young to be thinkin' like that?"

Something in his eyes hardened, and he shook his head. "No," he barely whispered. "I'm supposed to be older…to take care of them."

Lips stayed sealed. With a scrape of shoes against the asphalt, he turned away, sauntering down the alley, shoulders hunched.

"H-Hey!"

The steps stopped, but he didn't turn around.

He really didn't know why he wanted the older boy to stop. But when he called out again, those eyes looked back at him. Tentatively, a small smile tugged at his lips, and he waved before whirling and running away. When he looked over his shoulder, the older boy was gone.

He never forgot that night.

00000

At least they didn't really hold it against him. Japan could be tough, but it hadn't been that bad. The man hadn't died – _he_ had showed up before he could finish the job. So they found him, charged him for attempted murder, and he got two years in jail.

Not a bad deal if you asked him.

He hadn't cared about what he did. He still didn't care. That bastard had deserved it for what he had done. All the blood… his mother shot numerous times, and his baby sister choked. He had just come home, and the rage was indescribable. The son of a bitch fled, and he had pursued, finally catching up to him and flicking the switchblade out of his boots. With one swipe he had the man on the floor as he slashed at him.

Just like they said: blood for blood.

Of course, he had been forced to plead guilty. Not much could be done when the man had woken up from his week-long coma and told the police about his blue hair. It wasn't hard after that. How many kids had blue hair anyway? At least the other guy had been given a life sentence for second-degree murder.

It was a pity he was so recognizable, but not for _him_. Never for him.

That orange hair, glowing in the tiny street lamps at the end of the alley, those wide eyes staring at him. He knew how he looked, the blood that covered his entire body. Most of it was the other man's. But those eyes just looked at him, suddenly seeing something and widening. He didn't like that look. He just felt so angry, so tired and empty and hopeless, and this kid looked like he _understood_ that.

So he moved over to him, and he knew that that kid wanted to back away, to run. He even asked the kid if he was afraid, and to his surprise, the idiot had denied it.

He hadn't been able to get the kid out of his head.

All this time, he couldn't understand why the kid hadn't run away from him. Any other kid would have screamed, but he hadn't moved. And then he had said the strangest thing, smiled, and left.

The kid hadn't known that he had just witnessed his mother's blood all over the floor, the pallor of his sister's face that made the bruises around her throat so much worse. He hadn't known any of that, and for some reason, he knew the kid had understood when he said so. He hadn't been lying.

Suddenly, there it was – a beacon of color contrasting violently with the scenery around him. The park was empty, and that orange-haired kid just sat on the swing, looking completely lost in his own world until five boys surrounded him. The kid didn't look up, but he could tell from the tense lines of his body that the boy was fully aware of the situation at hand.

Words were exchanged, a few enough to make the orange head snap up. Even from where he stood he could see the fire blazing in those nut-brown eyes as his hands gripped the swing's metal chains harshly.

Then, he was jumped. The largest kid slammed his fist into the boy's face, but there was no sound. The group was yelling, and he could finally hear the words. It had something to do with his hair, that he dyed it, that he only sought attention, that he was a loser, that he was pathetic because _his mommy died_.

Unacceptable. Completely and utterly unacceptable. These bullies probably had families to go home to, but when a fierce cry left the orange-haired kid's lips and he viciously attacked the bigger boys, he knew the leader had been telling the truth.

He wasn't stupid. Despite what most people thought, he was quite intelligent, and he could put two and two together. That must have been the reason for the kid's absurd words that night.

Not like there wasn't anywhere he had to go – honestly, he had shit to do – but it was time to intervene. Maybe they had more things in common, even if the kid was six years younger than him. Same fights, same accusations. Some just came earlier for this kid than it had for him.

"Oi," he muttered, and the kids quickly looked up. They promptly froze. He did tend to have that effect on people. "Gonna keep the odds uneven?" When they didn't answer, he continued. "Ain't fair when it's five against one."

They weren't even looking at him. It was understandable. They were staring at his knife. The switchblade was open, the metal sharp and deadly as it glinted in the sun, his fingers moving of their own accord. The weapon shifted gracefully through his fingers as he played with it as if it had been born into his hand.

"Who're you?" It seemed the leader was the first to recover, a boy that looked thirteen with thick black hair and a mean face.

He shrugged. "No one of consequence."

_Bullshit_, his brain snarled. And it was true. If it were anyone older, he would have told them his name – most kids his age knew who he was, and when they heard, they looked like they'd piss in their pants. It was hard to miss the news and its report about what he had done to that man with a mere pocketknife.

Even still, he liked people to know who it was that kicked their ass. Sure, he had an ego, but jail did things to a person, made them grow up, mature, develop a thick skin. And there was no way he'd waste energy on puny fuckers like these egotistical brats.

The black haired boy sneered. "You have weird hair, too."

Anger slowly filled his eyes, and he drilled the full power of his stare on the leader. The boy grunted, and took a miniscule step back. A wicked grin split his face, making the black haired kid's eyes widen. "You better watch what you say, little shit."

Oh, his grin was manic and he knew it. The four boys behind the leader were cowering, all but shivering in fear. "Boo," he said, and the followers were the first to flee, glancing back over their shoulders and shouting for the leader to do the same. His grin widened, eyes taking on a new glint. "Get the fuck outta here, little shit. Don't come near this kid again."

Finally, the boy seemed to come to his senses. He took off after his mates, and soon it was just him and the orange haired kid.

"I didn't need your help," a voice grumbled.

He chortled. "Sure, kid." Even still, he bent down, holding out a hand to the kid currently sitting up. Surprisingly, the kid took it, brushing off the sand from his clothes when he was on his own two feet. He plopped onto the swing, looking up at the older boy with one orange eyebrow raised.

Rolling his eyes, he agreed, sitting on the swing next to the strange kid. He let out a sigh, long and heavy, but his breath stopped when the kid opened his mouth.

"Grimmjow."

"What?" he blinked.

This time, the kid looked at him. "Grimmjow. You're name is Grimmjow Jag…Jeager-something." When a thin blue brow rose, the kid continued, looking away. "I saw you on the news after…after that incident."

"So?" he challenged.

"You… You have blue hair," he suddenly blurted.

"Che," Grimmjow scoffed. "I woulda thought that was pretty fuckin' obvious, idiot."

The next thing the kid said was quiet. "What was her name? Your sister."

He sighed again. "Nel. Nelliel Tu. She was six."

"Oh." He paused for a moment. "She… She had green hair."

"Yes."

Silence strained at the air between them, and finally, the boy spoke again. "I'm Ichigo. Kurosaki Ichigo."

Such a weird kid. "Yeah, yeah. And it's Jeagerjaques, by the way, kid." He paused for a moment, looking at the bright hair and brown eyes to the boy's slight build. He had definitely gotten bigger. "Where'd you get the hair?"

For a moment, the boy looked confused, then he gave a small but pained smile. "My mom. She was killed, though. When I was nine."

Ah, so that _was_ why the kid had seemed to understand when he had seen him that first night, bloody with bits of skin hanging off his hands and under his nails. And the fucking kid hadn't even backed away.

He glanced over, and the kid's eyes were wide. Grimmjow turned to stare in front of him. "Don't tell people that sorta thing that often, eh?" It wasn't a question. Ichigo nodded, and Grimmjow continued. "I don't tell people about my sister, either."

That seemed to console the kid somewhat, and Grimmjow felt a small smile tug the corners of his lips. He stood from the swing – it was time for him to get going. Nnoitra would be wondering where he was. After all, they had shit to do tonight.

"Stay outta trouble, kid," he sighed, slowly moving away in his usual commanding walk.

"Wait!" the cry was desperate, and not unlike the first time he had called after him. "You're… You're just leaving?"

He almost laughed, but grinned instead. "You don't need me, kid." And he didn't, even if the kid thought he did. Deep down Ichigo had a core of steel. "See ya around, Ichi," he called, and disappeared.

00000

The bastards just wouldn't stop coming. And it always had to do with his hair. Sometimes, he wanted to dye it, just so he could get these creeps off his back. They had him backed against a wall, but he refused to give in. These pricks were just bored, and him and his orange hair were an easy target.

Suddenly, the six of them rushed him, and his hand flicked, the knife coming easily into his grasp. They had brass knuckles and bats, and while he only had the switchblade, he gave it back to them as good as he got. He could barely see past the blood dripping into his eyes from a head wound, nor could he feel much more through the plasma slipping down his arms and torso.

But his attackers were bleeding, too.

He was by no means an expert at handling the knife, but he liked the weapon. It reminded him of blue hair and a gruff attitude, of someone who had killed before, and had killed easily.

And really, he should have expected it. He had been there at the most random times, but he realized that this time was different.

The man was running, dark eyes wide with fear. The coppery smell of blood mixed with adrenaline and panic created a stench that floated around him. He was running toward the group, moving to dodge them, and for just a moment, his hand touched the wooden building on his left.

Almost as if on cue, a knife swished through the air, imbedding into the wood, the blade barely a centimeter away from the man's arm. He thrashed, but the knife held firm to the fabric it had captured.

He just sauntered down the alley, hands loose by his side, blood covering every inch of his body. He was bigger, his height and pounds of muscle definitely more intimidating than when Ichigo had seen him the other times. The grin splitting his face was deranged, abnormal, and his fingers twitched, as if they were missing the knife that was usually in his grasp.

"You runnin' away from me?" he asked, cocking his head to the side, voice lilting, like he was playing with his prey. A large hand grasped the back of the frightened man's neck, shoving his face into the wall.

The bullies' attack on him had been completely stopped. They stood mesmerized at the sight before them, and Ichigo had to admit it was a daunting one. A shiver ran down his spine as he watched him smash the man's face into the wall again, and for once, he felt a thrill of true fear.

This blue haired man would be about twenty-two now, and Ichigo didn't even have to study the other man to guess his age was somewhere in the early or mid-thirties. And this smaller man – well, only by a little bit – that was younger had the other shivering in a heap of nerves and blabbering excuses.

Of course, knives helped, but he realized that the blood didn't belong to the cowering man when Grimmjow spoke next.

"Wanna slice me again? I can have an excuse to kill you. God knows you deserve it," he half growled, half purred. Ichigo wasn't sure how the hell he did it.

"No! No, please! I don't know what I did, but—"

Rage suddenly painted every line of Grimmjow's body, and it radiated through the small alley as if it were an actual pressure or presence. Quickly, Ichigo glanced at his hands. They were shaking. Who the hell was this guy?

"You come near her again, and I will kill you," he snarled, giving the man a quick shove before backing off. He grabbed the knife's handle, yanking it out of the wood and letting the weapon clatter on the blacktop, the sound hollow and foreboding.

He was walking away as if he couldn't even see Ichigo and the six guys surrounding him, when a shaking hand snatched up the knife. With a loud cry the threatened man charged Grimmjow's back, and Ichigo didn't even think. His hand gripped his own knife as he cried, "Grimmjow!"

It was effortless. Simply, gracefully, he turned, stance predatory as his fist shot out, catching the man in the jaw as his other hand gripped the man's wrist and twisted. The agonizing cry of pain sent shivers down Ichigo's spine. The knife fell again, this time the sound unheard as the blue haired man ducked and stepped behind his assailant. His hands grabbed the face expertly, cracking it to the side with a vicious twist.

The _snap_ of broken bone and ended life was deafening.

He just stared at the dead body for what seemed like hours but was only minutes before nudging it with his toe. "Che. Fucking too easy," he mumbled, before hunching his shoulders and moving away. He had only gone a few steps when it seemed as if he finally saw the seven people now on his left. Lips twisted in a smirk. "I remember you," he laughed.

And it was true. Now that Ichigo thought about it, it was the same black haired boy from all those years ago – the same one that Grimmjow had warded off before. But now his eyes were beginning to take in other things.

The shirt Grimmjow wore was torn, barely even covering him. With his left hand he gripped the fabric, using all of his strength and ripping the remaining shreds off of his body. The six boys flinched. Ichigo sucked in a breath.

So it _was_ his own blood. Grimmjow had cuts and scrapes everywhere, especially a long one that seemed to stretch from the top of his right hip to halfway between his pectorals. It was bleeding badly, but he didn't even look fazed. There were other cuts here and there, mostly minor, and there looked to be a gash above his eye and probably somewhere else on his head if his hair had so much blood in it.

Grimmjow sighed and bent down, fingers slowly gripping the knife's handle. He didn't pick it up, but dragged the blade against the asphalt, the noise grating in every boy's ear and making more than one of them shudder in fear. His eyes studied the weapon, and he tossed it in his hand as if he were checking the weight.

"Didn't I tell you not go near the kid again?" he murmured dangerously.

All six boys stiffened.

Except for him. Ichigo felt indignation flare in his chest. He hadn't been called "kid" in a long time, and even if Grimmjow had used the term before, it didn't mean he had liked it then any more than he did now.

The other two times, Ichigo hadn't done anything. Sure, he had gotten a few hits in that second time he had seen Grimmjow, but right now, he wanted to show the fucker what he could do. He wasn't about to lie down and let Grimmjow have all the fun and decimate his competition. No, that was _his_ job right now.

"Oi," he called calmly, gaining the attention of everyone, even the blue haired man that was slowly standing. Ichigo held up his knife, flicked the blade closed, and took a defensive stance. "You shouldn't get distracted."

With that, he charged forward, driving a fierce uppercut into the jaw of the man closest to him. The only response was a mangled gurgle as Ichigo brought his knee up, smashing it into the man's stomach. He ducked and twirled as he felt a rush of air over his head, sweeping a leg forward and effectively pulling another man's feet out from under him.

Someone caught his right shoulder, and he hissed in pain. But he used the push forward to whirl around, snapping his left elbow into the man's face, a grin splitting his lips at the crunch of bone. Usually, he really didn't like getting into fights, but he had been surrounded by violence almost his entire life, and he was definitely no pushover.

He delivered a swift punch to someone else, shifting his weight onto his good arm and kicking his legs into the air. One foot snapped into a man's knee, and he went down howling.

Ichigo flipped back to his feet, panting. He hadn't done that in forever – sure he worked out and practiced at the dojo every day for karate, but it was never anything this serious. It was definitely different when your life was on the line.

He glanced up, catching the calculating stare the blue haired man was sending his way. Ichigo slowly straightened to his true height, noticing the blood spatter over his clothes. "Che. Great," he muttered, knowing his blood was there, too.

Skin tingled as he still felt the weight of Grimmjow's stare, and a scowl pulled down his lips. Brown eyes slid in the other man's direction, and Ichigo growled, "You didn't expect me to let you have all the fun, did you?"

A slow grin spread out on Grimmjow's face, and he let out a dark chuckle. "Shit, you amuse me, kid," he laughed.

"Don't call me that."

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow, and Ichigo crossed his arms.

"I'm not a kid anymore. Don't call me that," he said irritably.

"Che, fine," the blue haired man conceded roughly, but there was no anger in his voice. "What the hell are you doing in this part of town, then, Ichi?"

His frown deepened. He hated that nickname, too, and by the wide smile on the other man's face, he knew it as well. So, he ignored it. "Wrong place, wrong time," he grumbled, hissing when he moved a hand and it scraped over one of his cuts.

The blue haired man grunted, motioning in front of him with his head. "Come on, kid. You need to get cleaned up."

"I told you not to call me that!" Ichigo protested. But Grimmjow wasn't paying attention. The man just paused and glanced over his shoulder.

"You comin'? I ain't got all night."

Then, he turned around and continued walking, as if he _knew_ Ichigo would follow him. Pity that the blue haired man was completely right. Grumbling and cursing under his breath, Ichigo caught up to the man, wincing every now and then as he was beginning to feel the repercussions of fighting after sustaining so many injuries already.

"Why doesn't that bother you?" he mumbled.

Grimmjow glanced at him, grin still in place as he pointed to the large slash across his chest. "This thing? Trust me, kid, I've had worse."

Ichigo didn't understand. "Worse? How?"

"Prison, remember?" The smile was slightly crazy now. "Someone had to do time for slashing the fucker up. Although," he scratched his chin thoughtfully, "I heard someone spilled. Their tongue got loose and told the damn cops who did it."

His eyes widened. Ichigo stuttered, "N-No! I…I never told anyone! No one! I wouldn't… I wouldn't tell anyone about that. Ever."

What he didn't want to say was that he had been selfish. He had wanted to keep the blue haired man to himself, to never tell anyone about him, because he had finally found someone that knew the pain he felt everyday when he woke up and his mother wasn't there anymore. He had finally found someone who _understood_, and he didn't want to share that with anybody, even if he would never see him again.

"Good," Grimmjow muttered, but his eyes were thoughtful. "When he woke from the coma the guy told them." Blue met shocked brown. "That's how they knew it was me."

"B-But then—Why did you just tell me that?" Ichigo said indignantly.

The blue haired man shrugged. "Wanted to see your reaction."

Ichigo scowled. "That's a lousy reason."

Tired footfalls were the only thing punctuating the silence stretching on for minutes at a time, until Grimmjow murmured, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

He wasn't sure if he heard correctly, but when he met the intense sapphire eyes, he knew he had. He made sure his eyes were determined. "Because I wasn't afraid." He wasn't, even now, even though that small bit of fear had coursed hot and heavy through his blood when Grimmjow had so effortlessly ended that man's life.

"Che, you're an idiot," came the guarded reply, but Ichigo's eyes narrowed.

"And why's that?" he challenged.

"Cause you are," the man shrugged, shaking his head, and Ichigo suddenly noticed that they had walked into a small apartment complex, heading straight for the one at the end. Grimmjow fumbled a bit up the steps, and it seemed as if the constant blood loss was finally getting to him. He shoved the door open, and Ichigo hurried up, wincing in pain when his wounds protested as he grabbed Grimmjow before the man could collapse on the floor.

The apartment was relatively small. A small living room with kelly green couches sat to the left, and on Ichigo's right was the tiny dining room and a round table, opening up into the kitchen behind it. A short corridor led to two bedrooms in the back.

Five people whirled around, most staring blankly at the two men as they stepped into the small apartment. Both of them were panting, and he couldn't help but feel sick to his stomach as he glanced at all the piercing gazes sent his way.

Sure, he wasn't afraid of Grimmjow, but that didn't mean he was stupid enough to feel no fear looking at these other guys. They all appeared to be around the same age, Ichigo noticed.

"Mah, mah," a silvery voice murmured playfully. "Always takin' it to the extreme, ne, Grimmjow?"

Fear slithered down Ichigo's spine in a tingle of awareness. The man that had spoken had a wide grin that looked completely _creepy_, not to mention his eyes were shut, silver hair falling over his forehead. Who the hell looked so young and had _silver_ _fucking hair_? It was downright unnatural. Then again, so was Grimmjow's blue hair, his orange hair, and the pink hair that belonged to some guy lounging on the love seat furthest away from him.

A deep but somewhat feminine voice scoffed. "Always getting himself into trouble." The owner of the voice stood, and Ichigo noticed she was a very busty woman with chocolate skin and yellow blond hair. She sighed heavily, taking Grimmjow from Ichigo's grip. Without the other man to help him stand, Ichigo's legs trembled, and he fell to his knees.

"Don't complain, Hallibel," Grimmjow growled, trying to smack her hands away.

"Who said I was?" came the low, contemplative voice.

Ichigo felt immensely out of place. He was still bleeding a bit, but he didn't dare say a word. He couldn't defend himself in his current state, and the only person he could claim to know was Grimmjow, and he didn't even know the man very well.

"Oi," Grimmjow muttered, irritated. "You bastards just gonna sit there or are you gonna help the kid?"

"I told you…not to call…me that," he snapped in between winces of pain.

A man with brown hair stood, lazily moving over to him and helping him stand to his feet. For a moment, he just stood there, then nodded his head to each person as he spoke. "This here is Hallibel. I'm Starrk, fox-boy over there is Gin, Nnoitra's the one with the eye-patch, and Szayel's the one with pink hair."

The pink haired man tsked his tongue. "Nice to know the only thing worth noting is my hair," he mused, pushing wire-rimmed glasses up his nose.

"Che, yeah well he made me sound like a fuckin' pirate," the man named Nnoitra complained. His hair was pitch black and long, probably reaching the bottom of his shoulder blades. His thin lips were pulled into a scowl.

For the majority of the next hour, nothing was said. There was the occasional growl and expletive let loose as Grimmjow swatted Szayel's ever-prying hands as he patched up the seemingly ungrateful blue haired man. Ichigo remained silent, wincing and hissing occasionally as Starrk and Halibel cleaned his wounds.

After a long sigh, Szayel flicked his fingers. "I have the rest in my room. Follow me."

He didn't even bother looking back. Amidst grumbled protests, Grimmjow followed the pink haired man, disappearing in the rooms to the back. Ichigo winced as Hallibel pressed her fingers a bit too hard on one of his cuts, but her only attempt at an apology was to lighten the pressure.

Starrk yawned. "You know he's all bark and no bite, right?"

Ichigo's eyebrows rose as he gave Starrk a disbelieving look. Starrk sighed, glancing at the ceiling as if he were gathering patience. "At least, he _usually_ doesn't bite."

Hallibel seemed to crack a small smile at that, and from behind Ichigo, Nnoitra snorted, his laughter rough as he cackled. But then the air turned serious when Hallibel drilled him with a bright green stare.

"What did he do to him?" she whispered, voice still relatively monotone.

He winced, wishing he didn't know what she was talking about. "Snapped his neck," Ichigo whispered.

Starrk let out a small "che" and Hallibel's lips pulled into a frown. "He shouldn't have done that," she said quietly.

Prying wasn't really his thing, but he was extremely nervous, and if he didn't say something, he felt like he'd explode. "So, um… How old is everyone? Are you guys like, in college or something?"

Nnoitra scoffed. "What the hell is this, twenty questions?"

"Calm down, Nnoitra," Starrk murmured, then nudged his chin at the woman beside him. "We're all twenty-two except for Hal. She's twenty-one – just graduated with a degree in psychology. That idiot over there works as a mechanic for an auto body shop down the street. Szayel just finished his first year in grad school to be a doctor, and I'm a mechanical engineer."

"What about Gin?" He had almost forgotten the silent, silver haired man was there, that same creepy grin _still_ tilting his lips and giving Ichigo the shivers.

Starrk glanced at Gin for a moment, then shrugged. "Who knows?"

Ichigo knew there was something else behind it, but he figured it was best to let it go. He felt embarrassed for asking, but "What's Grimmjow's?"

"None of your fucking business, kid," the deep voice echoed from the back of the apartment.

Grimmjow walked back into the open room, shirt off and body bandaged. Ichigo couldn't help it. Now that the blood was cleaned off, his eyes were drawn to the man, and even more so the ink dotted on his skin in thick, colorful lines. He barely noticed Starrk and Hallibel gather the soiled clothes and bandages and walk to the back, Nnoitra reluctantly following them and Gin just smiling like it was his fucking birthday.

Ichigo scowled. "Che, just curious, asshole. And stop calling me a kid. I've got a name you know."

A feral grin spread across Grimmjow's face as he carefully plopped onto the sofa cushions. "All right, Ichi."

"Ugh, and not that, either."

"You didn't complain when I called you that before."

"I was twelve! And you were walking away anyway, so it wasn't like I could correct you," he grumbled, frown deepening.

Grimmjow chuckled. "Fine then. Ichigo. Why were those bastards after you in the first place?"

The orange haired boy shrugged. "They hate my hair." Then, "I think I need to dye it," as an afterthought.

The man across from him scoffed, leaning his head back until it rested against the back of the couch and he was staring at the ceiling. "Don't dye it. Looks fine to me."

Ichigo's eyes widened, watching the other man's close. Grimmjow had to be pretty tired, but Ichigo couldn't help but want to talk more. For years this man had been on his mind, somehow making an impression on Ichigo in just the two short times that they had even talked. He couldn't forget him if he had tried.

At first, it was just because of the blood, of the emptiness, the knowledge that the boy (at the time) had known what Ichigo felt. Then, two years later, he had saved him from a group of bullies that had been plaguing his life not long after he had originally met Grimmjow. They had only talked for a bit, but it had done more than leave a simple impression.

And now as he looked at the man across from him, he couldn't help it. His eyes took in the strong shoulders, the muscled pecs and core that could be seen even with the bandages, and the slight but substantial hips. Something dark curled around his right shoulder and slithered down his arm, but he couldn't tell what it was.

His skin itched from the man's presence, and Ichigo nervously ran a hand up and down his arm. He made Ichigo feel edgy, unsure of himself, and he was so nervous that he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "So what was your major?"

Grimmjow grunted, but didn't open his eyes. "Business."

"And?" _Just keep talking. That should help_.

A blue eye cracked open, and the man smiled when he noticed Ichigo's curious yet embarrassed look. "Gonna open a business one of these days." He paused for a moment. "Dunno what it'll be, but I have an idea what it'll be called."

"What's that?"

"Kurohyou* Enterprises. Or Pantera Enterprises. Either one." (*black panther)

Ichigo blinked. "What's the second one? The word doesn't sound familiar."

The blue haired man's eyes were still closed. "Means panther. It's Spanish."

"Spanish? How do you know Spanish?"

"Well, I definitely ain't full Japanese, Ichi," he smiled, laughing at the scathing look Ichigo sent his way. "Nah, I'm mostly European, but I could be a bit of everything, too, I guess."

"Oh… That's cool." This seemed to be getting way too awkward for Ichigo, but it was pleasant to talk to the man, however laconic and crass he could be. Ichigo gulped and averted his eyes from the other man's. He really shouldn't ask, but he was curious, and it was nagging at his brain. "So, uh… The 'her' you were talking about back there in the alley… Was that Hallibel?"

"Yeah."

"Why?" For a moment, he wondered if Grimmjow could see his true motive for asking.

"She's an old friend of mine. We went to college together – all of us here did. He was a stalker friend a' hers, wouldn't leave her alone even though she's been with Starrk a year now. Roughed her up a bit and I saw it."

That was interesting. It did answer his question – somewhat. But Grimmjow wasn't finished.

"Not that Hal can't take care of herself. I just felt like a fight," he shrugged.

"Hm." Ichigo glanced at the table, then tested his arm for something to do. It ached, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. "So, uh… What's that tattoo on your arm?"

Something dark seemed to cross Grimmjow's eyes for a moment, and he lifted his arm, staring at the mark for a moment before motioning for Ichigo to sit beside him. Slowly, Ichigo stood, heart pounding.

His eyes fell on the ink pattern, and he couldn't look away. A black tail curled around the swell of his bicep, coming back and attaching to a lithe body slinking its way down Grimmjow's arm, one front paw holding the panther's weight and the other stretched out as if clawing at its wearer's hand. Tilted black ears were flat against the sleek head, snarling mouth open and exposing the sharp teeth.

"That's…" Ichigo couldn't even begin to describe it. It was beautiful and deadly all at once, and every twitch of Grimmjow's muscle seemed to make it come to life. "Where'd you get it?" he finally managed to ask.

Grimmjow's hand clenched into a fist before he slowly relaxed his fingers. "My cellmate. Some expert tattoo artist – Mexican. Taught me Spanish."

"Oh." What else could you say? And of course, something stupid ended up leaving his mouth anyway. "Wish I could speak Spanish."

"No." Grimmjow's voice was hard. "You don't."

Ichigo scowled, but kept his mouth shut. He wanted to say some form of smart comeback, but he couldn't quite think of one, and even if he could, it would probably come out stupid. Besides, the gaze from Grimmjow's eyes was intense, just like the first night, but there was something else there instead of the emptiness.

His skin was too hot, and he didn't like the fact that the man's body was too close – much too close. The scowl on his face was disappearing, and he knew that his cheeks were definitely red. His stomach felt like it was fluttering out of control, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the other man's.

"Ne, ne, did I come at a bad time?" a silvery voice murmured.

Grimmjow blinked, and Ichigo jerked back as if burned. His skin was flushed, but he barely saw the exchange between Grimmjow and Gin – if there was one at all. The blue haired man scoffed, slowly standing and wincing before grabbing a jacket from the coat hanger by the door.

"Come on, kid. I'll take you home."

Ichigo nodded numbly, mumbling a goodbye to Gin and following the suddenly annoyed man out the door. His car was impressive, but the ride was silent except for the times Ichigo quietly gave directions. Once at his house, Ichigo stepped out of the car, Grimmjow mimicking him and leaning against the hood, hands in his pockets and staring at Ichigo.

The orange haired boy swallowed, scratching his neck, flushing under the scrutiny of the intense stare. "Er… Thanks, Grimmjow."

"No problem," Grimmjow shrugged. After a moment of tense silence, he sighed, long and heavy, before stepping closer to Ichigo, a hand reaching out and ruffling the bright orange hair. "See ya around, Ichi."

He should have felt indignant. He should have yelled at the man that he was _not_ a child and did _not_ need his head patted like one. But the accusations died on his lips. Those were the exact words he had said last time.

"Grimmjow!" he suddenly called, chest unbearably tight.

The man turned, glancing over his shoulder, blue eyebrows raised and knowing grin on his lips. "Yeah?"

"You should… You should use the Spanish one. It…fits you better." His cheeks were flushed, but he doubted Grimmjow could see it from where he stood.

The man chuckled. "You really are something else, Ichigo," he said, then slid into his car and drove away.

Ichigo's heart thumped painfully. Oh, he was in trouble.

Then again, he had been in trouble ever since he had met him six years ago.

00000

God fucking dammit.

The monitors were freaking out again. It was twenty minutes past three, and the stupid technology company wasn't here yet. He couldn't remember what it was called, and he frankly didn't care. He just needed that damn technician here – pronto – or he would have to leave work early. Again.

He really needed to fix his temper.

Did he care to?

Hell no.

Of course there were times when his temper didn't rule his actions. His subordinates didn't think so, but he knew it was true. Outside, he was calm, reserved, but inside he was like a tornado, whirling and raving like mad, detrimental to the world. He was just…more himself around the others in the company.

It definitely wasn't that he was getting docile or used to working in a cubicle. No, he kept himself fit, kept himself the same as he had been back then. Except, things seemed to be different when that kid had been around…

He growled. Years and years of boxing and raw, constant fighting had kept his mind sharp, hands calloused, and body refined. He didn't need to think about the scrawny kid (who hadn't _really_ been _that_ scrawny), even if the kid had pulled some pretty impressive moves.

_Cut the shit, Grimmjow_.

That had been six years ago. No use thinking about it now.

"What the hell is taking so long?" he ground out, slamming a hand on the intercom and angrily pressing the largest button. "Ylfordt! What the _hell_ is taking so long?"

Reluctantly, he released the button, and a quick hum of static echoed before, "Ah, Grimmjow-sama. Looks like the van just pulled up."

"Finally," Grimmjow grumbled, hurriedly standing from his desk chair and flinging his office door open, stalking down the hall with his lips pulled down in a frown. He was _not_ having a good day.

Despite _Pantera Enterprises_ being up to date on all the latest technology and the equipment needed for it, his system was still having glitches, and it was getting to be really fucking annoying. He had called in the problem, and the secretary had been kindly telling him with a sickly sweet voice that reminded him of bad caramel that he needed to wait because all their employees were busy.

He knew how to press people's buttons. He knew exactly how much he needed, how much they had to hear before they would accept his demands. After all, working under someone like Aizen Sousuke, no matter how fucked up and arrogant he was, taught you how to read people, their reactions, and how to get the most out of it.

So, his voice had lowered – dangerously – and he let his anger and frustration seep through the phone like a palpable force. Then, he proceeded to ask (well, more like demand) again, and offered to pay double. She had promptly agreed.

And now, because of that, the technician was finally here and he was moving down the hall to meet them, posture slightly slouched but radiating with utmost confidence. He passed Ylfordt's desk, the blond secretary giving him a worried look before sighing and shrugging his shoulders.

He didn't even bother using the elevator. When he got like this, Grimmjow felt the need to keep moving, like he would implode if he forced himself to remain still for any amount of time no matter how small it was. He was down the stairs and in front of the receptionist within minutes, the petite blond man jumping from his boss's obvious wrath.

"Gr-Grimmjow-sama!" he exclaimed nervously.

Blue eyes slid to the right, and Grimmjow bared his teeth slightly. "Just do your fucking job, Di Roy."

"Y-Yes, sir," the man named Di Roy squeaked, facing his computer again and typing furiously on the keyboard. Grimmjow scowled. He hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but he wasn't in the most forgiving mood at the moment.

He was a few feet from the door when it swung open, and in walked the last person he had ever expected to see in his life. It was a miracle he even knew who it was considering it had been so long and he had merely been a kid, but there was no way in hell he'd ever forget that head of ridiculous orange hair.

Of course, it didn't hurt that he'd been thinking about the kid earlier today.

"What the hell?" he swore.

Brown eyes snapped up, and a smile spread across that face, hand still frozen over the clipboard and fingers clutching a pen. "Oi," he said, smile widening, chin nudging towards him.

Even if he had something to say, he wouldn't have been able to. The shock was just too much for Grimmjow. After six years of nothing but remembering a very interesting night, the person that he had been thinking about for six years was standing right in front of him, not at all how he remembered him.

He remembered a boy of ten – wide, honey eyes, small frame, and still too childlike to really care what he was saying. He remembered a boy of twelve – body tense and coiled, ready to fight, eyes blazing before looking happily at his savior. And then he remembered the larger boy – moves swift and sure as he took out his attackers, somehow managing to be bold and shy at the same time later that night.

But he didn't remember this. He didn't remember the well-built figure standing in front of him, posture sure, work pants fitted but still slung low on his hips and hanging straight to the ground. The white polo looked small, and clung to his shoulders and chest, exposing lean but muscular arms.

Who the hell was this kid?

"You need computers fixed?"

The voice was low, but not gruff. It was clear, much the same as it had been six years ago. Before he knew it, he felt his countenance changing, getting a grip on reality again, and he looked to the side, scoffing. "Yeah. Follow me."

Though he couldn't see him, it was strange that he _felt_ him following. The kid – Ichigo – seemed to be a bit perturbed by something, but he ignored it. When he chanced a glance over his shoulder, he noticed the scowl that had been on the kid's face before was back, and he looked annoyed as he followed Grimmjow.

Something sparked in his brain. "So why the hell did they send me a creep with fucking orange hair?"

He could even feel the kid's indignation. "Che, aren't you one to talk about hair," he grumbled.

Grimmjow threw his head back and laughed, but kept walking.

"You laughing at me?"

The challenge was there. He could _feel_ it. It was like all the other times: the challenging voice, the knowledge that someone behind him was tensing, preparing for a fight, and that they would damn well rise to the challenge they offered. But he could barely keep this up any longer.

He paused just before Ylfordt's desk and looked over his shoulder. "I dunno. You tell me… _Ichi_."

The kid was frozen, gaping like a fish before he looked quickly at Ylfordt, a blush staining his cheeks as he rushed into Grimmjow's office. "Oi!" he called, slamming the clipboard onto Grimmjow's desk and leaning over the wood, face furious. "What the _hell_ was that all about?"

Really, it was just too easy to rile the kid. "Messin' with ya," he laughed. Ichigo did not look amused.

He huffed, leaning back and crossing his arms. "I thought you couldn't remember who I was."

Grimmjow snorted. "Yeah, like I could forget someone with orange hair."

Ichigo's eyebrows narrowed. "Says the man with _blue hair_."

A smile spread across his face, and he couldn't help it. "Yeah? Did ya miss me, kid?"

"I told you not to call me kid."

"So?"

"God, you're an asshole," Ichigo muttered, eyes blazing. "I'm twenty-two you fucking bastard."

"No shit, Sherlock," Grimmjow grinned. "Great math skills you got there. But you didn't answer my question."

"Can we just get this thing finished?" Ichigo scowled.

"Yeah, yeah," Grimmjow chuckled, motioning for Ichigo to sit in the chair on the other side of his desk. The orange haired kid did, and there was something in his eyes besides annoyance. Grimmjow really didn't consider himself as someone to care about such trivial things as someone else's emotions, but something was making the kid fidgety, and he was curious.

"What's eatin' ya, kid?"

The scowl was back, but his brown eyes flicked to the side as if embarrassed before meeting the blue ones again. "Did you really remember me?"

_That's_ what was bothering the kid? Well, Grimmjow had to admit it could've been worse.

"No point in lying about something like that, is there?" he shrugged.

"Why didn't you acknowledge me?"

"Was I supposed to?"

"Goddammit!" he growled, fist clenching. Grimmjow had to admit he liked seeing the kid angry. It brought a pleasant flush to his face. "Stop answering my questions with questions!"

Grimmjow sighed, realizing he had to be more serious. Or whatever. "Course I remembered you. You're hard to forget." The last sentence was quieter, and definitely held more finality than the other one. He stared at Ichigo, and the kid's breath hitched quickly.

Finally, Ichigo looked away, frowning again. Before the kid could open his mouth, Grimmjow took initiative. "What're they paying you?"

"Minimum wage," he scoffed, looking almost ecstatic to have another topic to talk about. "I fuckin' graduate with a degree in computer technology and they pay me _minimum wage_ to do a job I've learned about for four years."

He nodded. "Wanna work here?"

"What?"

"Pantera Enterprises isn't just about shares and stock, kid. Nnoitra mans the auto body branch mostly found downtown, Szayel works as the company and side-company on call doctor out of his office across the street, and Starrk is the one that goes over most of the company's work and policy contracts as well as anything mostly mechanical. Hallibel has an office downtown as well and is part of a group of well-known psychologists giving therapy sessions and occasionally teaching at the university."

"O-Oh…"

"We've got a computer section, too. They run operations from this main building, but they detect the viruses that could be used to stop production as well as creating new computers and working with them to make a thriving business."

The kid looked dumbstruck. Then suddenly there was a, "Hell yeah!" and Ichigo's eyes were blazing again.

"You'll take it, then?"

"Hell yeah," Ichigo repeated.

Grimmjow grinned again. "Then I'll call Starrk and have him draw up a contract. After you fix my monitors, of course."

"Sure," the kid nodded, moving to the office door before he stopped. "Uh…" He rubbed the back of his head nervously. "I don't know where to go."

He stood from his desk, shaking his head. Really, Grimmjow couldn't believe how amusing this kid was. But before he stepped out the door, Grimmjow moved into Ichigo's personal space, causing him to back away until he hit the office wall.

"Your decision wouldn't have anything to do with me…right?"

Ichigo almost gulped. "N-No…"

"Really, now?"

"Yes."

"Hmm…maybe I should remedy that…?"

"What?"

Grimmjow knew he could be making a big mistake, but most of the time, he didn't like thinking. He liked action, and that was precisely what he was he doing now as his lips slowly closed over Ichigo's. There was a tiny sound from his throat, and Grimmjow pulled back with a smile before walking out the door as if nothing happened.

"O-Oi!" Ichigo called, racing out. "Oi!"

Grimmjow glanced over his shoulder, and his grin widened. The kid's face was completely red.

"Hey, bastard, what the hell?" he called again, catching up with Grimmjow as he led the kid down a hall toward the computer section of the building. Once they were out of Ylfordt's view, Grimmjow stopped, pinning the younger man against the wall again.

Ichigo's jaw clenched, but his eyes were blazing. "You can't just randomly go kissing people, bastard."

"It's my office," Grimmjow rumbled, voice low as a wide grin split his face. He leaned in, breath leaving his nose and ghosting over Ichigo's neck. He repressed the urge to laugh at how hard the boy was fighting. Well, fighting the sensations, not the situation per say. Ichigo's hands were clutching Grimmjow's shirt and his head was tilted to the side, allowing Grimmjow much more access than he really needed.

He glanced up, and brown eyes were shut tightly, slightly erratic pants slipping through gritted teeth. "G-Grimm," Ichigo murmured, head falling forward as he subconsciously pulled the older man closer.

This time, it was Ichigo that tipped his head, grabbing Grimmjow's lips with his own and opening his mouth as the breath left his lungs. Slowly (which was strange considering Grimmjow didn't like slow things), he slipped his tongue in Ichigos' mouth, pressing closer, hands still on either side of Ichigo's head. He let his teeth lightly graze Ichigo's tongue, and he could have sworn the younger man bucked slightly.

Grimmjow wasn't sure how long it was that he and Ichigo made out, but after a while, he pulled back. Ichigo just stared at him, eyes clouded with heat. Both were panting, but Ichigo finally managed to get out, "God, do you know how long I've wanted to do that?"

The chuckle that rumbled in Grimmjow's chest said he did, but he still answered. "Me, too, kid."

Ichigo's face reddened, but whether it was from the familiar nickname or the fact that Grimmjow had just pressed against the younger man's groin he didn't know. "I-I'm not a kid," Ichigo said breathlessly, and Grimmjow had a good idea which one it actually was. He laughed again, then removed himself from the kid in front of him.

"You've got some computers to fix for me, Ichi," he amended, continuing down the hall.

"T-That's it?" Ichigo stuttered, looking dumbfounded.

"We're in an office, Ichi," Grimmjow grinned. "Didn't know you were that kinky."

"I'm not! A-And that's not the point!" Indignation was written on every part of his body. "Don't think I can't kick your ass if you're being a complete bastard."

Grimmjow just chuckled, but he liked this fiery side of Ichigo. "You'll get more later… If you want," he said, voice low and seductive.

The bright red on Ichigo's face was definitely worth the possibility of the promised beating as the younger man's colorful expletives lit the hallway.

* * *

**A/N:** Hmm. Yeah. Don't ask me about the ending. Lousy, I know. I just have no idea how it got from the first two or so pages I wrote to how it is in the end. It just… happened. Well, hope you enjoyed it. I know it's long for something that just randomly popped into my head, but that's how things go with me I guess. This story is probably not exciting at all, and I only really like the first 18 pages, but hopefully you GrimmIchi lovers liked it. As for the tattoo (should anyone have questions), I just really wanted to write about a cool panther tattoo. Hence the scene. There really isn't any more to it than that, ladies and gentlemen.

Well, this is just a random story. I have more ideas for stories about Bleach – lots in fact. This wasn't supposed to be the first thing I published, but it's shorter than the IchiRuki I've been working on for a while, so that's why it's finished. Anyway, review if you feel so inclined.

- wolf's paradise


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